


Of Mice and Musicians

by euromagpie



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: AU, from episode 10 onwards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:11:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3254315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euromagpie/pseuds/euromagpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hartley breaks out of the Pipeline and teams up with his mysterious roomate, they latch onto Captain Cold and Heatwave. Together, they are the beginning of the Rogues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pipeline Burst

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, this is a new work and hopefully I can keep at it but probably not, so don't get your hopes up too high. Plus I'm a little rusty, so forgive narrative blunders.

Cisco flicked on the lights as he entered, squinting against the harsh lighting. Balancing the tray in one hand he approached Hartley’s cell with slight trepidation. He wasn’t that lost in their old feud that he didn’t feel a twinge of guilt at imprisoning the young man. He may have been a jerk, and sometimes a dick, but he was still Hartley, uptight and brilliant. Regardless, Cisco knew they couldn’t let him go; he was too angry, too hurt to consider letting bygones be bygones.

He flipped open the mail slot-like hole beside the clear cell wall, and slid the packaged rations into the room. His ex-colleague didn’t react – he almost never did, sitting with his back to the window, staring at the wall.

That was why Cisco was surprised when, as he was about to head back, Hartley did speak.

“How many ears does Captain Kirk have?” He asked.

Cisco was surprised; Star Trek was the only thing the two ever agreed upon, picking apart the scientific inaccuracies and arguing about which inventions would become reality next. In those moments it was nearly fun to be around the other man.

“I don’t know; how many ears _does_ Captain Kirk have?” He answered.

“Three; a left ear, a right ear and a final frontier” He said. Cisco groaned.

“Is that the best you could come up with after three days?”

“Oh, I assure you I’ve come up with plenty of other thoughts, but I believe that one is the only one you’d appreciate”. Hartley turned around to meet Cisco’s eyes, smirking. He blinked; Hartley wasn’t wearing his glasses and Cisco couldn’t remember ever having seen him without them.

“Why would you care about what I’d appreciate? You hate me; you tried to kill me!”

“Did I? I don’t remember taking any opportunities presented to me to try and end your life” He said. Cisco stared.

“Well, I know you hate me anyway, man. You’ve made that quite clear”.

Hartley shrugged.

“Hmm, perhaps I hated you, perhaps I hated the circumstances surrounding out meeting. Not like it matters now, does it?”

There was a moment of silence. Hartley’s eyes flickered upwards.

“Caitlin is wondering whether you got lost”.

He winced. He and Caitlin had been taking it in turns to deliver food to the…guests. At least Barry was responsible for taking them to and from the bathroom. Super-power and all that.

“You can hear that, huh? Those hearing aids of yours are pretty cool”.

The other young man suddenly looked very intense.

“Do you know what else is ‘cool’? I can hear the particle accelerator humming, even when it’s turned off. I can hear your computers working away, I can hear Flash eating and Wells’ chair moving around. I can even hear the electricity crackling around me, fuelling this cell. What I can’t identify” He leaned closer to the glass, tilting his head, “Is the large amount of power originating from corridor 6C. What do _you_ think it is, Cisquito?”

Cisco leaned forwards, his mind already running though the inventory of power sourced in the lab. It wasn’t the lights, nor the emergency power generator. It wasn’t-

Hartley slammed his hands against the window. The walls rattled and Cisco jumped backwards, his face betraying his shock.

Hartley laughed. He howled, curling into himself with the force of his mirth.

“Francisco, you should have seen your face!” He wiped stray tears from his cheeks. “That certainly made my day!”

Furious, Cisco glared at the man in the cell, before turning and stalking away, the door closing behind him with a hiss.

 

 

It was another six hours before Caitlin convinced Cisco to take the food down instead of her; damn her and her hidden snack stash.

The visit was conducted in stony silence, Hartley watching Cisco’s every move curiously. It was only when Cisco, relieved interaction wasn’t happening today, was about to move onto the next cell, when Hartley spoke.

“Ah, Cisco,” He gave an exaggerated sigh and spun on his heel, fixing Hartley with a long-suffering look.

“What?”

“Tell Caitlin, tell her that, ah, I’m sorry. About Ronnie”.

Cisco just stared at him. When Hartley turned around in a dismissive gesture he left, only throwing a quick, calculating glance back at the guy behind the plastic.

Hartley waited until the younger man was gone, before yanking the tray of food into his cell. He glanced at the food with distaste; some kind of mashed potato, a canteen of water and a glass, and a foil-wrapped something. Probably a protein bar judging from the size. Settling down cross-legged, Hartley took a long draught of his water.

He did mean his apology. Next to Wells, Caitlin had probably been his favourite person in the lab. Her mind was equally bright as his own. It had never been easy for Hartley to communicate with people, so he had assumed that their mutual mockery was they version of friendship, although he was obviously mistaken. It didn’t help that Hartley had a mean mouth on him; the comment about Ronnie had just slipped out. He’d only met the man a couple of times, but he had noted how Caitlin had lit up whenever he was around.

Upon reflection, Hartley would have probably even liked Cisco had they met under different circumstances. He just couldn’t avoid the stab of hurt when his ex-colleague had first entered the room. Cisco was intelligent; as intelligent as he himself, as little as he wanted to admit it. So the new guy was smart, and pretty, and obviously adored Wells; just like Hartley when he’d first been taken on. Just Cisco was younger and obviously much more fun to be around. When he’d realised this, Hartley had just exploded; it had felt like Wells was setting him up to be replaced with a newer model, to be abandoned like his parents had. Just this time it wasn’t a little sister, it was a wet-behind-the-ears smart-ass with a stupid ponytail.

Lost in his reflections, the genius was absently tapping his glass with his fork, sending small peals through the tiny space. His mind caught up with his actions and suddenly his eyes focused on the glass intensely.

_Tap tap_.

Sound waves, Hartley could work with that.

 

 

The next time Cisco came down to give Hartley his meal, he was accompanied by the Flash. _Even better_ , Hartley thought, eyes flicking haphazardly over the red leather, from his belt to his mask, over those ridiculous lightning bolts on the sides of his head. The two men were deep in conversation, Cisco gesticulating wildly and the Flash laughing.

Not that Hartley could hear any of the conversation. At the moment his head was all noise, loud, piecing screeching, like arrows fired deep into his synapses. Eyes watering, Hartley struggled to keep his composure, his cold mask up; the plan relied on them not suspecting anything was wrong.

Walking closer, the scientists paid little heed to the man in the cell. Why would they? He was weapon-less, and sitting away from the window, even.

_Closer_. _Closer, now!_

Hartley stood up, ignoring the battering orchestra in his ears. Noiselessly, he spoke.

“Gentlemen, if I may have your attention, please.” He couldn’t hear himself, but both Cisco and the Flash stopped in their tracks, suddenly suspicious.

Picking up his fork and glass, Hartley took a moment to pray to whatever might be listening, that this plan would work. Fork met glass.

Inside the cup, Hartley’s other hearing aid sent out its vibrations, mixing with the harmonics produced by the tapped glass. A clear, bell-like note rang out through the corridor and cell.

Mid-stride, Cisco and the Flash stopped cold. Hartley waited ten seconds, in case it was a trick, before running a finger around the rim of the glass. Again, a drawn out vibration echoed through the room, and Cisco jerked; Hartley wasn’t exactly sure how effective hypnotism would be with only a glass and a hearing aid-turned-transmitter, but it seemed to work pretty well.

“Open the cell.” Hartley commanded. It was strange hearing the vibrations in his throat without the accompanying noise, but he’d put in his spares as soon as he got back to his apartment. As long as his room-mate had left it in one piece, that is.

When Cisco moved to the pad to open the cell, he could admit he was a little surprised; he didn’t actually expect to get this far on the first try. It seemed that maybe this time, one try was all he needed. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? Hypnotism was perhaps less destructive than sonic waves, but apparently no less effective.

With a hiss, the doors parted, with Cisco standing stiff on the other side. Curious, Hartley approached him, getting up in his face for a moment.

“Fascinating” He murmured, before turning resolutely towards the Flash. Reaching up, he ran his hands over the mask. When he looked into the other man’s eyes he thought he saw a glimmer of something in the irises. Hartley smirked.

“Don’t look so scared Flash, I’m not going to molest you. You’d make me feel like a paedophile anyway.” He nearly hooked his fingers under the red leather, but stopped himself.

“I could take off this mask, see who’s under there...but what would be the point, hm? I know what I’d find; you’re young, pretty, probably got a nice smile. Wells seems to collect us…DAMN THAT MAN!” At this point he was shouting, whether at Flash or just life in general, he didn’t know. “HOW LONG DO YOU THINK YOU WILL LAST, FLASH? HUH? HOW LONG DO YOU THINK IT IS GOING TO TAKE WELLS TO REPLACE YOU!”

Suddenly the fight seemed to drain out of Hartley. He let out a shaky breath. “Let me ask another question; how long do you think Cisco is going to last? I bet Wells already has all the plans in place to get rid of him and replace him with you, Flash, his newest lab-rat. Wells is a single minded sort of man; he can only pay attention to one person at a time. Today it’s Cisco, tomorrow it will be you. And the next day? Who knows.”

Gripping gold-painted metal in his still rough palms, Hartley grasped the lightning bolts and yanked, hard. The communicators came out in his hands, ripped wires sparking. Even with a short glance, Hartley could tell this would be enough to get him out of the building.

In the back of his mind, the mysterious corridor 6C was still niggling at his brain; what was it that was taking up so much power there, in that ordinary bit of wall? Before he could pursue that thought any further, the sharp noise stabbed him again; Hartley swore he could peel the hot pain all the way in his toes.

The secret would have to wait. For now, Hartley would just have to concentrate on getting out, before the hypnotic effects wore off of his two guards. It hadn’t been planned that well; with no experiments to go on, Hartley didn’t know how long the effects would last. By now, Caitlin had probably also noticed the Flash’s communicators cutting out. She and Wells could be on their way right now.

Plucking his aid out of the glass, Hartley scurried off down the Pipeline, already pulling and twisting together the wires from both devices.

 

 

Caitlin had in fact noticed the violent disconnection of Barry’s headphones, but actually finding Wells had taken some times. Sometimes that man could be damn near impossible to find. Eventually she did, reaching the wheeling figure travelling leisurely along one of the dark corridors in S.T.A.R Labs.

“Doctor Wells!” She called. He stopped, swivelling around to greet her.

“Caitlin. What can I do for you?”

“Ah, well, the thing is both Barry and Cisco went down to distribute food to our…guests. But, um, Barry’s comm. just blew out, like it’s been removed. This isn’t just interference.”

Harrison didn’t respond for a moment, tapping a finger on his chin.

“Well, Doctor Snow, only way to see what happened is to find out ourselves. Let’s go have a look.”

 

 

When Caitlin and Harrison reached the Pipeline and found the two men, she almost hit herself. They were perfectly fine! She was about to go and hit Cisco for making her worry, when Harrison’s grip on her wrist stopped her. There was a strange expression on his face.

“Something’s not right here-“

A loud explosion shook the building, nearly sending Caitlin toppling over. It seemed to spur the two men before her into action though, Cisco suddenly stumbling and Barry shaking his head. The shockwave passed, and Barry flitted up to Caitlin and Harrison.

“Didyouseehimdidhehurtyouareyouokay?”

“Barry. Barry!” Caitlin tried to slow him down. She was very confused right now. Something just exploded and Barry was vibrating right in her face. Slowly his form solidified, and by then Cisco had jogged up to the trio as well, blinking furiously.

“Did we see who?”

“Rathaway.” She blinked. That was not what she was expecting.

“What? Hartley’s out?” She asked, shocked. “We didn’t see him. When your earpieces malfunctioned, we were worried you ran into some kind of trouble so we headed down right away…oh my god.”

“What?” Cisco and Barry asked at the same time.

“That must have been him! Hartley probably caused that explosion. Wha-“

Before she could even finish her sentence, Barry was gone, leaving a gold draft behind alongside three bewildered scientists.

It only took thirty seconds before he returned, frustrated expression on his face. His shoulders dropped as he slumped into one of the control room’s swivelling chairs. Pulling off his mask, he ran red hands through his hair. Three curious faces turned to him, expectant.

“I couldn’t find him.” A collective sigh went through the room. Cisco and Caitlin were sitting at the desk, sucking on a lollipop and absently biting a nail respectively. Harrison was sat near the suit stand, chin on linked fingers.

“No matter” Harrison finally spoke. “Hartley needs attention; he’ll make himself known soon enough.” Pressing on his controls he moved out of the room.

In the quiet, Caitlin’s worried whisper carried through the room.

“But at what cost.”


	2. Items of business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Iris' story arc, and Hartley gets to socialise!

Hartley stumbled through Central City in a daze. The stabbing pain was making navigating a little difficult, street-signs reduced to blurry squares, but muscle-memory led him right back to his apartment. Thankfully it was just after dusk by then, otherwise the disorientated man would have probably been set upon and dumped in some dingy alley somewhere.  
Wearily, he dragged himself up the few flights of stairs. For once no neighbours accosted him, which he was surprised and at the same time incredibly grateful for. He fumbled for a second with unhooking the fake light switch cover, but eventually managed it, fishing about for the key. Of course he hadn’t taken it with him; it would have been stupid to be carrying his house key when he was planning on getting captured. The first time.  
Hartley grimaced in memory of the humiliation and almost fell through the doorway as the lock yielded. He slammed the door shut, not hearing the loud banging past the harsh yowling in his head. His roommate had probably woken up by now, but the other man knew to leave him alone if he didn’t respond to his queries.  
Scrambling quickly into his room, he shut himself in, already pulling out the plastic tub with his spare aids in them. Then passed two long hours of alternatively yelling in pain and cursing as the electronics failed to co-operate or a screw-driver rolled tantalizingly out of reach. When he emerged, Hartley hardly looked like the same man that went in; his usually tidy hair was blown out in a frazzled halo, and his eyes were blood-shot. His glasses had been abandoned at the beginning of his endeavour. But at least he could hear again.  
The first thing he heard was the sound of metal on terracotta coming from the kitchen. Hartley lowered himself into his battered sofa, the worn leather letting out a small squeak as he settled. The other man was humming, and badly. He considered shouting at him to just shut up already, but found he couldn’t summon the energy.  
The musician felt, rather than heard, the man enter the room. A tanned hand reached into his vision, shoving a cup of plain coffee into his bandaged hands. Wordlessly, Hartley took it and drank, the hot liquid scalding and familiar. Still tasted like shit, but it made him perk up again. Ahh, the joys of pulling over-time regularly at a dangerous science-facility; you came to savour the joy of plain beans dumped in water.  
“Welcome home, Hart” Said the voice from behind him. Hartley turned and smiled a tight-lipped smile at the figure leaning against the door jamb.  
“Thank you, Mark”.

 

Iris clutched her notepad close to her chest, trying to ignore the stares. Ever since she had spoken to Dr Wells at the conference, there had been animosity directed at her. She was perceptive; it didn’t matter that the sneers and laughs happened behind her back, she was well aware it was going on. They’re just jealous, West, she berated herself. After she had stuck up for Bridge he had been nicer to her; not warm exactly, but not as frosty as before. Iris had gathered from the office gossip that his new attitude was as close to pleasant as the man had ever got, maybe even closer.  
Iris flipped her hair, striding over to the water cooler, heels clicking, back straight. She wasn’t going to let a bit of dirty talk ruin her new career. If she wanted to be Reporter Iris West, Pulitzer winner, she was going to have to rise above this. She caught a flash of a check shirt out of the corner of her eyes and made a detour, catching her new boss on his way back to his office, store-sandwich half-way to his mouth, shedding sad lettuce as he went along.  
“Ah, Chie- er, Mr Larkin! I’ve finished the report on the Flash sighting on 52nd Street, the burning building? But I was thinking, since I’ve finished it early then maybe I could start on that domestic abuse shelter I was talking about?” Iris winced inside. She wasn’t holding out any hope that she’d get to do any actual reporting at this point, but she wasn’t a woman who backed down easily.  
“No, West. I have a new assignment for you, actually”.  
Iris frowned.  
“There haven’t been any new sightings yet, as far as I know”. The man took another big bite of his sandwich.  
“Mph. It’s not about the Flash this time. You get to- Ah, Bridge!” He waved a hand at someone behind Iris’ back. She turned just in time to see Mason jog over to the two in response to Larkin’s waving hand.  
“Yes, West, I’ve been getting absolutely glowing reports from all around the department. You’re quite popular suddenly. I’ve even had a suggestion that I’m being too soft and restrictive. So, I’m giving you the St. Andrews Gang story!” He smiled at Iris.  
Iris herself was blown away. She wasn’t liked! What was going on? On one hand, utter confusion; on the other, she was finally being given an original story to write!  
Iris was about to open her mouth to enthusiastically accept the job, when Mason got there first.  
“Are you insane? West is an utter newbie! You can’t give her this st-“ Iris saw red.  
“I’ll do it, Mr Larkin, thank you” She said icily. She could feel Mason staring at her, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of looking at him.  
“Excellent. Leslie will introduce you to the investigative beat. You’re off for the rest of the day. Rest up and come in at 6 am tomorrow. She’ll be here. Good luck, West” He said, pointedly finishing off his sandwich, lobbed the paper wrapper at the bin, missed and stalked into his office, closing the door firmly.  
Iris whirled around on her colleage.  
“What the hell was that? You might have been here longer than me, but this is the first story I’ve got that doesn’t-“  
“Listen, Iris” The use of her name pulled her up short. Mason looked her right in the eye, for once looking sincere. “I know you’re trying to prove yourself here, but this is not the way. I’m not doubting your abilities, but an undercover report is not something to chuck a newbie into, no matter how good they are. Especially with a gang like this; people get killed on these assignments, West”. It struck Iris then that, just maybe, Mason was worried for her. Struck dumb by that prospect and the idea that he had just paid her a compliment, roundabout as it was, she couldn’t rustle up a sarcastic comment like she normally would have.  
“Who’s Leslie?” She asked instead.  
Mason sighed.

 

Hartley contemplated his relationship with the other man. Not that there was a relationship; Mark had established quite early on that he wasn’t a monogamous person, while Hartley very much was. Not to mention that while he certainly counted as eye candy, especially since he had an aversion to wearing clothes for about an hour after he’s had a shower, his personality was not something you want to be dating. It was bad enough sharing a flat with him.  
The two had met the week following the accelerator explosion. Hartley, while driving out to a remote field to practice his sonic adjustments, had come across the wreck of a plane, with Mark barely alive inside. He had taken him in, mostly because he felt guilty.  
Yes, the great Hartley Rathaway did have a conscience. As soon as he heard about the disastrous fallout of the particle accelerator failing, guilt had collapsed on him like a building. Every new affected person added a weight to his shoulders; he even felt a tiny little miniscule amount of guilt for the Flash, although that one obviously gave more advantages than it took. Hartley just couldn’t ignore that fact that he was just as much to blame for the disaster as Wells; he knew about the dangers it posed but allowed it to happen anyway, all for his career. Disgusting.  
Living with Mark wasn’t the easiest thing for the first nine months. Not that it was easy to live with him now, but he could be down-right scary, as little as Hartley wanted to admit it. His friend had been abandoned by his brother, left for dead while he ran off to lick his wounds alone. That alone fuelled Mark’s anger, and when Mark was angry the whole sky echoed his emotions. His mood-swings were often destructive; his day would start as a good one, sunny disposition and weather to match, but a stray word would trigger tornadoes and thunder-storms. Even CCN had picked up on the tumulus climate.  
When Clyde re-surfaced, and was subsequently killed, he had calmed down somewhat. For a whole week afterwards it was as though Monsoon Season had come to America, heavy rains and plummeting temperatures accompanying Mark’s recluse behind his door. He came out a new man, however, one who was a lot easier to live with, as long as he kept his hands to himself.  
Mark was surprisingly thoughtful on occasion, and witty. Hartley sometimes caught himself thinking of him as a friend, although he quashed the fond feelings almost immediately; the more you get attached to someone, the easier it is for them to rip your heart out and stomp on it.  
“Yo, you in there?” A tanned hand waved in front of his face.  
“Don’t ‘yo’ me” Hartley grumbled tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face. He hadn’t got a lot of sleep since his re-incarceration in the Pipeline, since the other prisoners weren’t exactly a quiet bunch. Plus, with the amount of electricity running through the building, it was an annoying background buzz that just wouldn’t let him drop off for any longer than an hour.  
“You look wrecked, Hart, where have you been for the past three days?”  
“Places. Lodged a complaint with my ex-boss” He replied vaguely.  
“Huh. Doctor Wells, right?” Hartley was surprised.  
“How did you know?”  
“I googled you. Oh, and I used your laptop”.  
Ah. Given his usual façade of thick playboy, Hartley forgot on a regular basis how clever Mark was. His laptop was heavily encrypted, but Mark was intelligent enough to get his way through without asking for the password (not that Hartley wouldn’t give it willingly when asked, but he thinks it’s probably more fun for his friend if he doesn’t ask). Both men were educated, simply in different fields. Where Hartley’s parents wanted him to learn literature and lawyering while his interests lay in physics, Mark’s parents wanted him to go into computer engineering while all he wanted to do was spend a few hours alone with Twain and a box of tissues. So Hartley had an extensive knowledge of philosophy and languages forced on him, and Mark had heavy software and hardware knowledge to hand. Thankfully there was an overlap of interests in both fields, so there was plenty to talk about between the both.  
“By the way, Hart, I was thinking” Mark started.  
“Oh is that was that strained expression was?”  
“…wow, I am bowled over by your comedic genius” He deadpanned. “No, while you were gone I was out” He finished.  
Hartley squinted at him.  
“Is this ‘I picked up 47 snowy virgins’ out, ‘I realised I have a responsibility towards this apartment and got groceries’ out, or ‘I stole something’ out?” He asked.  
“The last one” Mark replied happily. Reaching under the sofa he pulled out a briefcase which, when opened, turned out to be full of small to medium sized diamonds. They sparkled like little lights in the dingy apartment.  
“Mark-“ Hartley started warningly.  
“Come fence them with me?” Mark asked, pasting a pleading expression on his face. Hartley had to slap himself mentally to not give in.  
“I have told you, I do not want to meet your less than savoury friends. I intend to stay low for a while and wait for the Flash to lower his guard again, so for the foreseeable future I will be staying away from society”.  
Mark just looked at the young genius incredulously.  
“You seem to be implying that you were somewhat sociable before. Oh come on Hart, you and my fence would get along great; he’s just as much of a stuck-up smart-ass as you. Actually, he’s probably worse”.  
Well damn, now Hartley was intrigued. He was used to being the worse example in a comparison.  
“…Fine, but don’t expect this to be a regular thing. Once and only once”.

 

The shop that Mark brought him to was sandwiched between a Turkish deli and a battered-looking charity shop. Across the green sign curled golden letters, spelling out ‘DILLON’S DIAMONDS’. A small card hung in the window indicated the shop was ‘open for business’. Hartley swore he could smell the elitism from where he was standing, but he didn’t say anything as Mark confidently pushed the door open, duffle-bag containing the case of diamonds casually slung over his shoulder.  
Inside, the shop was softly lit by a set of fake gas-lamps set into the walls; he could see the outline of flame-shaped lightbulbs behind the tinted glass. Around the edges of the room were glass-cabinets, with a few standalone chest-displays dotted around the floor. Every shelf was filled with sparkling jewellery and small sculptures. Sub-par ones too, Hartley could tell even from where he was standing; ah, the advantaged of growing up in a house filled with snobs who took every opportunity to show off.  
Behind a faux-mahogany counter stood a tall, pallid-looking man, a mop of brown hair parted to the side. At the moment he looked to be examining a tray of diamonds provided by an elderly woman standing before him. His round glasses glinted in the dim light. Hartley was nearly impressed by the theatrics; nearly.  
“Well, Mrs. Decker, there really isn’t that much of value here, I’m afraid. Most of these ‘diamonds’ are tinted glass and the gold is just brass-covered tin. I can probably offer you $800 for the whole lot”.  
“Oh dear, are you sure that that is the most this is worth?” She asked, wringing wrinkled brown hands together. The man took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  
“I’m afraid so. I’ll tell you what, though, I have a bit of money to spare this month, so I’ll pay $900 as long as you don’t tell anyone” He said gently. The woman gladly agreed, trading the goods and leaving happily.  
Mark burst out laughing, while the man glared at him.  
“So, Roscoe, how much are they really worth?” He asked. Roscoe sniffed disdainfully.  
“Somewhere between $1600 and $2000 probably. She really need to learn to compare evaluations before she makes a deal” He said. Hartley’s lip curled in disgust; this man had just brazenly ripped off a little old lady and didn’t seem guilty about it at all.  
“She’s not a bad thief for pushing 83 though” He added. Ah, Hartley thought, well that’s something different.  
Mark sniggered, unfazed. Instead he opened up the duffle-bag and pulled out the briefcase. Absently, he introduced them.  
“Roscoe, this is Hartley, my roomie. Hart, this is Roscoe, my fence”. The jeweller grimaced.  
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that. It sounds so…uncivilised” He complained. Hartley couldn’t help but agree.  
“Where’s Al?” Mark asked. He put the case on the counter, popping open the top and spinning it around. Glasses on again, Roscoe picked up an old-fashioned loupe, complete with brass fittings. Hartley resisted rolling his eyes; the man’s pretentiousness knew no bounds.  
Picking at the wares, Roscoe replied.  
“He’s gone to collect a delivery from Alvin. The Saints are layering at the moment; they’re about to cash in their diamonds for integration”. Hartley’s eyebrows rose; this was a genuine money-laundering operation, run by a con-man jeweller, and they were discussing it in the front of the shop!  
He was about to make a scathing remark about covert listening devices, when the sounds of an argument issued from the back room.  
“You keep your hands off of me, Rory, before I cut them off!” Someone yelled. The disturbance was followed by the emergence of a pretty-faced black woman, dark curls bouncing in indignation.  
“Hello honey” Roscoe remarked, not looking up from his inspection.  
“Hey, Lisa” Mark echoed. She gave him a dirty look before pecking Roscoe on the cheek and settling down at the other end of the counter, setting up a magnifying glass, a stack of paper and various engraving tools and bottles of ink. Every angry slam on the wood made Hartley flinch; the other two men seemed used to it.  
“I wouldn’t make certificates while angry; you’ll spoil the line-work” Hartley’s friend commented. Lisa flipped her finger at him.  
“Don’t tell me how to do my job, Mardon. The last time you tried to forge anything it looked like a drunk spider tap-danced across the paper”. He shrugged unapologetically.  
To Hartley this entire exchange was baffling. When he agreed to meet Mark’s side of society, he’d imagined that everyone would be very hush-hush about their activities; make polite chit-chat and Mark and Roscoe would leave Hartley alone while they discussed fencing and forging privately. This was the complete opposite of the cloak-and-dagger affair he’d imagined.  
“So” Mark started casually. “Rory’s out? After the spectacle he and Len made of themselves on CCN I’d have thought he would still be behind bars in Iron Heights”.  
Lisa snorted. “He would be too, but I stepped in. Len had a contingency plan”.  
“Len’s out too? Huh, you’d think they’d put better security on the transport”.  
“Oh please, security was plenty tight, I am just that good” Lisa countered. It looked like the two were rearing up for a good argument when Roscoe cleared his throat.  
“This lot is of a pretty good quality, Mark, I’m impressed. I can pay you $3000 for them”.  
“No” Hartley said. For the majority of the exchanges he had been quiet, observing, so the room’s occupants all started when he spoke. He faced Roscoe across the counter; it wasn’t that he or Mark really needed the money from the diamond deal, but more that he took personal offense at being cheated.  
“Excuse me?” Roscoe asked, a hint of steel in his voice. He obviously wasn’t used to, and didn’t like, his evaluations being questioned.  
“The cut, clarity and colour of these make them worth at the very least $5000” Hartley clarified. Roscoe seemed to look at him with a new respect.  
“Ah, but they are not shaped, which drastically lowers their price”.  
“On the contrary, it allows you to facet the diamond for a desired purpose, which makes them more valuable to you than poorly shaped one. Plus, diamond dust can be sold on as enhancers and abrasives”.  
The two began a rapid-fire argument, haggling at lightning speed. Quickly, they reached an agreement, $4700 for the briefcase full. The trade was made and when Hartley finally tore himself away from the bargaining, he was Mark was staring at him. He raised an eyebrow in question.  
“You are such a nerd” He said finally.  
“Watch it,” Hartley warned. “I own the lease to where you live”. That was an effective threat it seemed, because Mark suddenly adopted a wary expression.  
From down the room Lisa made mocking kissy-noises. It looked like Mark was going to lose his cool again when another fortuitous interruption stopped the imminent storm. Hartley wondered whether they practiced that.  
“Is that Mardon I hear? Tell him to get his skinny ass back here, I want a word with him” Mick growled.  
Mark pasted a tragic expression on his face.  
“Goodbye, my friends. Hartley, won’t you pay for my funeral?”  
“Hmm, I’ll buy you a whole envelope in which to put your ashes”. Looking hurt, Mark hopped over the counter, much to the vocal consternation of Roscoe and vanished through the door.  
Hartley wandered over to see how certificates were forged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Iris is about to go undercover in the Saints, and Mick is picking Mark's brain over something. Questions remain to be answered next chapter.


	3. Don't fuck this up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Iris realised just what she's got herself into, and the Rogues make plans of the nefarious kind.

Leslie turned out to be a tall, slender Chinese woman, choppy black hair sticking up every which way, giving her the appearance of having been electrocuted. When Iris nervously knocked on her door, the other woman immediately waved her in with a small smile.

“Come in, come in” Iris took the proffered chair, “You must be Iris, the rookie, right? I’m Leslie Willis, shock jock turned Goldsmith winner”.

“Oh, I’m Iris- but you knew that already…sorry” Iris ducked her head, flustered. The woman before her just looked so cool and collected, leaning on the arm of her swivel chair with one elbow, delicate chin cupped in a single palm, looking Iris over with a calculated gaze. She only hoped Leslie couldn’t see how she was sweating.

Leslie snapped her fingers.

“Right, let’s get down to brass tacks. Your assignment is the story of the Saint Andrew’s gang; they’re a group of criminals, mainly low-income Scottish immigrants, who have been wreaking havoc in downtown Central City _and_ Keystone City. I’m talking the whole shebang, girl; murder, blackmail, kidnapping, money laundering, rape, drug dealing - you get the picture. _Unfortunately_ , none of the convictions CCPD or KCPD drummed up stick. _So_ , this may be deeper than just common criminal acts. We think they have deals inside of the Courts of Justice”.

Iris was impressed; she hadn’t seen Leslie take a single breath through that entire speech. That was when what she’d said _really_ sank in.

“Oh my god. And you want _me_ on this?” She asked, a note of panic in her voice. The look Leslie sent her was sympathetic.

“Honey, I don’t want you to do anything, you brought this on yourself…although I’m sure Eric would understand if you decide this is not for you – you are just a rookie, after all”.

For a moment, Iris was tempted. This was so much bigger than she had expected, and it would be so easy to just take a trip down to Mr. Larkin’s office and ask to be taken off the assignment. Off the assignment, and back to writing about the Flash, and only the Flash. So, it was either the Saints or back to the dole cue on Monday.

She cleared her throat.

“What do I do?”

Grinning, Leslie reached down and opened one of her desk drawers, pulling out a thick cardboard folder. She handed it over, electric blue nails flashing.

“Here’s the rest of the information on the gang; criminal convictions, court transcripts, evidence seized, known and past members. Everything you’ll need to know”.

Iris flicked through the stack of glossy photocopies and hard copies. This was going to take several large tubs of frozen yoghurt to get through. She looked back up at the other reporter.

“Mr. Larkin said you’d be showing me the ropes of undercover work?” Iris asked.

Heels clicking, Leslie stood up and stretched, her work blouse shifting up a little to show the strap of some very lacy underwear. Iris flushed and busied herself shuffling the papers back into their folder. Standing, she quickly followed Leslie out of the office, adjusting her shoulder bag as she hastened to walk beside her new…boss? Instructor, Iris nodded to herself, mentally. An intimidating one, too.

“Okay, rookie, this is a long-term assignment, which means this story could take you months. It won’t be safe for you to be in contact with your friends or family; it’s recommended you tell your family where and why you’re going, but it’s up to you. You will be posing as the relative of a member of the Saints; she’s an uncover cop” Leslie told her. From somewhere on her person she fished out a photograph of a young police-woman in her dress-uniform, dark skinned, with long hair pulled back into a harsh bun. There was something in her eyes that unnerved Iris, but she took the photo anyway, as Leslie continued.

“Frances Kane; she’s been immersed in the gang for nine months. You’ll pose as her cousin. We’ll go and meet her tomorrow, when she’ll fill you in more about the off-record aspects of the gang, relationships and such, who’s the most likely to whaul on you, initiation ceremonies et cetera. You’ll go through some self-defence and fighting lessons with her too”.

At that, Iris smiled. “At least that shouldn’t be too bad. I’ve been doing Judo since I was seven”.

“It will be a little more intense than that, I think” Leslie commented dryly, and Iris’ smile slipped. “Anyway, we will go over the Saints information, at least the little we have, work on your Scottish accent, and you should be ready to go in three weeks”.

Well, there was a deadline. Three weeks from now, Iris would be part of a gang, collecting evidence to write up the story that would mark her out as a distinguished journalist. Or, she could be dead. That would certainly be a bummer.

 _God, Irey, stop depressing yourself_ , Iris scolded herself. Outwardly, she squared her shoulders.

“Well then, let’s get to it”.

 

 

By the time Mark returned from the back, looking a little wild-eyed, Hartley was sporting several bruises on his arms from Lisa’s short temper when he blocked out her light. Apparently, someone admiring her work made her twitchy, Hartley thought, snidely.

Walking up to his partner, Mark slung a lanky arm around Hartley’s shoulders, which was immediately shrugged off with a glare.

“Le- Cold wants to talk to you. As well as me. Some more. Er” Mark stuttered. Hartley raised an eyebrow.

“Are you nervous, by any chance?” He asked with a hint of derision, desperately trying not to show how nervous he himself was.

“Don’t try and deny it, I can see how nervous you yourself are” Mark said.

Well, damn.

“Hngh. Just lead the way” Hartley said. He thought he heard a snigger coming from Lisa’s direction, but decided that a fight between them would have to wait for another day. Hartley was too busy trying not to fidget as they moved past the diamonds counter and into the back-room. The new room didn’t look very criminal-y either; papered with simple blue and white striped paper, it had a large table in the middle with a few battered couches arranged around the floor. Standing bent over the table, studying a large sheet of paper, were two tall men whom Hartley recognised from CCN; Leonard Snart aka Captain Cold and Mick Rory, infamous arsonist. Hartley’s ex Chip had been on-site for a few of Rory’s cases, and he’d always described the mess of molten metal and stone with wonder and horror. Hartley hadn’t needed to see any images to be slightly terrified of Rory. Not that he’d ever admit it.

Cold looked up from the paper to measure up the new-comers. Hartley felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped down the back of his shirt. Never mind the other man’s new weaponry; his gaze was surely where his name had originated – it was emotionless, calculating, setting a chisel to your eyeballs and driving straight through to your brain, to pin down your thoughts and rifle through your head to see what made you tick. He felt slightly sick after a few seconds of that look.

Cold lifted the corners of his mouth slightly in a mockery of a human smile; perhaps an analogy of a hungry hyena would be more appropriate.

“Ah, Rathaway”. Even his voice was slow and measured, each syllable doled out with icy precision. The echoes of a laugh hid beneath every word and it seemed out of place with the machine-like rest of him. It made him sound a little unstable. “Mardon has told us about your particular…skill set. We might have a position available for a man of your means. That is, if you’re interested”. The offer wasn’t really an offer. With his aids, Hartley’s hearing was far better than a normal human’s and he could hear the low whirr as a machine fired up; from the one hand still in a pocket of his parker, it was safe to assume Cold was preparing to silence Hartley permanently if he wasn’t agreeable to their partnership.

“Why not, it’s not as if I have anything better to do with my time” Hartley muttered, trying not to sound _too_ belligerent, lest he set off the ticking time bomb that was Snart.

Len graced his response with another grimace-smile, before turning back to the paper on the table, gesturing for the two newcomers to join them. When Hartley looked down at it, the sheet revealed itself to be a map of Central City, several locations circled in red marker. He immediately recognised one of them as being the police station.

“We have already devised a plan for…dealing with the Flash. To execute the plan, we need to launch a consecutive attack on several different targets” he held up his hand when Mick opened his mouth, “And none of them are the Flash himself, no”.

The other man grumbled at that. “I don’t understand why we don’t just team up and hit him all at once. He can’t beat us all”.

Len just stared at him.

“He _has_ beaten all of us, Mick. Well, almost. No, someone like the Flash you can’t defeat in body. You have to aim at the mind. Heroes, they thrive on adoration. If who they protect hate them, they melt like ice in the sun”.

“So how is hitting the police station constructive?” Hartley asked. Len started tapping the circled locations.

“Not just the police station. Most of this will serve simply as a distraction while the real hit happens. That will be your job, Hartley”. Hartley was surprised at being given such a big role in their first team up, but sensibly stayed his tongue, waiting to hear the rest of the strategy.

“I will be attacking Windrunner Road. It’s the most used road in and out of Central City and will cause the biggest distraction. If that doesn’t get the Flash’s attention, nothing will”. Len nodded to Mark, who took an interest in the circle he pointed to next. “Mardon, you will take the police station. The Flash obviously has close relations to CCPD; he was there when we were taken in, and that cop covered for him in our last fight. Since they probably have defences against both of our weapons by now, you’re the best equipped to deal damage there. Keep to tornadoes and the like. _Don’t_ get antagonised, Mardon, stay out of close-range combat. No cat-sized hail stones aimed at chests. Just keep them occupied, inside the building if you can, and threatened”.

Mark nodded at his instructions; he could be volatile, especially around cops. Even if there wasn’t the strongest love between him and his brother, it was still his family that was gunned down by a police officer. That could get him riled up faster than you can say ‘temper tantrum’.

Len leaned over the map again, lips pursed.

“Ideally, there would be three locations to attack, but no particularly close-hitting location has presented itself yet-“

“S.T.A.R Labs”. It wasn’t often that Hartley felt the need to hit himself, but this time definitely qualified. Why the hell did he point fingers at S.T.A.R Labs? He didn’t actually want Cisco and Caitlin to _die_ , regardless of how obnoxious and annoying they were. Not even Wells deserved death at the hands of Mick Rory; severe maiming, maybe, but not death.

Too late for regrets now though. Len had turned to him, brow furrowed as he thought through the suggestion.

“Yes…Dr Snow and the Spanish kid work at S.T.A.R Labs, and the Flash was _very_ worried when we enjoyed Dr Snow’s company. Very good. Mick, you can hit the laboratories”.

It was now or never.

“No killing”. Hartley forced himself not to flinch when both Mick and Len measured him up. Mark’s gaze was a little more hesitant, as though asking if Hartley had a death-wish. At this point, he wasn’t too sure himself.

“Don’t kill any of the scientists at S.T.A.R Labs, at least” He tried to bargain. Not that he wanted any police or whatever to be killed, but it wasn’t as personal.

Mick laughed.

“No promises” He spat out through bared teeth. He could already feel the heat of the flames dancing around him, embracing him, welcoming him home.

Hartley shut up, guessing that was the best he was going to get out of the criminal. Len turned back to the map, after shooting a warning glance at his distracted friend.

“You, Hartley, won’t be hitting any locations. Mardon says you are some kind of hypnotist”. It sounded more like a statement than a question. Hartley glared at Mark; hypnotist made him sound like some kind of cheap street performer.

“Amongst other things, yes, apparently”. Len nodded.

“Good. Your job is to influence Mayor Bellows when he makes his noon address two days from now. He has previously made his support of the Flash clear, but if you make him renounce that support, Central will be on its way to hating the Flash”.

Mick and Mark still looked confused, but Hartley understood.

“Even if the Flash notices something is wrong, he will be too busy defending three separate locations across the city to stop the noon address. Plus, there is no way that all three attacks will result in no deaths; the Flash will be held responsible in all likelihood. This in addition to the Mayor’s rebuttal, will send the Flash’s popularity down the drain; and without the support of Central’s beloved citizens, the Flash won’t be able to operate for much longer”.

Len nodded, and Mark and Mick started grinning as the plan fully dawned on them. Either that or jus the prospect of imminent violence and destruction. Who knows with those two.

With a satisfied snap, Len rolled up the map.

“Make your preparations. We will meet back up here in two days at 2pm. Be ready”.

 

 

Across the city in S.T.A.R Labs, Cisco Ramon pulled a bright pink lollypop out of his mouth with a loud ‘pop’. He looked around nervously.

“For some reason, I suddenly have a really bad feeling”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES IM STILL ALIVE.  
> Drop a comment if you get the various references I've tried to include in this story. Comments warm the cockles of my heart.  
> As always, thanks for reading <3


End file.
